Black music. Black history. Black actors. Black athletes. Black Unemployment. Black dance. Black art. Black awards. Black students. Black Crime. Black cEOs. Black leadership. Black lives. Black achievement. Black Single Parent. Black lips. Black words. Black skin. Black verse. White Culture America, The symbols, they thirst, All too familiar, For that Black Monster Godzilla. Such […]
Tag: family
Dirty Street Heroes
He came in swinging wildly. I ducked the first punch and side-stepped the second. The bare knuckle of his hammer found it’s mark on the third swing, right into my ribs. A gasp of air escaped my lungs. All sides of the box were lined with faces, packed side by side, three and four rows deep, […]
The Visitors, Part 5
I awoke the next morning with my arm bandaged, resting inside a sling. I sat up, pulled the sheets back and placed my feet on the ground. Looking around the tent, I spied a make shift sink, made from a square pan, and a toilet of some sort, fashioned out of a chair with […]
The Visitors, Part 1
“One Is The Loneliest Number that you’ll ever do.” – Three Dog Night — “The tribes laid out their towns and villages in the form of constellations in the nighttime sky. The archaeological ruins show a remarkable alignment to the constellation Orion; the three inner circle cities making up the belt of Orion. ‘It’s not possible for […]
The Visitors, Part 4
Source Image I awoke to find Sofia gone. I’d slept right through the day and into the evening hours. It was night again and I was back on the move. I pulled the brim of my baseball cap down over my eyes, as I looked through the rain and into the distance ahead, […]
The Visitors, Part 3
The sound of bending and breaking branches, escaped the edges of the woods. I listened in earnest while resuming my pace. I paused again at the sound of more breaking branches. When I moved the source of the sound moved. It was paralleling my path and this wasn’t the Visitors’ normal mode of operation. These […]
The Visitors, Part 2
I could hear the movement in Salsa. The African rhythm of the base, kettle, and guitar. She swayed. Her hips bounced back and forth, her arms and elbows extended out. Clapping her hands to the melody, shimmying her breasts and shoulders, while turning in a circle, she shouted, “échale!” Closing her eyes, she moaned in […]
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